Monday, February 11, 2013

Alas, alack, I have sighingly come to admit, that my juggling talents can no longer extend to holding down a blog like a real blogger should – unless someone invents an eight day week. Simultaneously, I have come to admit that I am extremely bad at knowing when to quit. I thought it’d sit more comfortably to be a fair-weather blogger, who pops by on an Every Now and Then, (rather than being dignified and throwing in the towel). Eye roll.

Following is some recent happenings stuff. I can’t remember the other stuff because I have turned into a fair-weather blogger, who only pops by on an Every Now and Then, (rather than being dignified and throwing in the towel). Double eye roll.

The bit about the camping...
Same place as last year, excellent company, all-day swims, explores and adventures. A stunning display of kids-in-car behaviour, with only ONE jelly snake flying out the window over the nine-ish hour journey. So impressed (relieved) that the evil parenting technique STILL works.

Wildlife spotted:
2 x Red-bellied Black Snakes
10,000,000 x Kangaroos
22 x Lace Monitors
5 (or 7,000) x Brush-tailed Possum (never could work out if it was the same characters sitting in the Weet Bix box)
20 bazillion x birds/fish/skinks/interesting insects
1 x Less Interesting Paralysis Tick.More on That Less Interesting Paralysis Tick...
The little blighter may or may not account for a very sick, big kid for an uncharacteristically-long time. She missed the first day of school and the next and the next and after the weekend, the next and the next and she’s still not back to ‘her’. I have a self-imposed ban against medical Googling but was well into it, after the third frustrating doctor visit. After breaking my medical Google ban I became promptly aware, that while ticks are parasitically impolite when they burrow their head into your shoulder and feed on your blood, they ain’t got nothin’ on the Bot Fly. I can only assume that coming to know about the Bot Fly in the first instance and viewing one fifth of the Most Revolting Bot Fly Removal Video Ever, is the penance one pays for breaking a self-imposed medical Google ban.

The Day the Small Started School...
I had toyed with scheduling my dental appointment on the First Ever Day of School. I trusted this would distract me from the inevitable My-Baby-Has-All-Growed-Up sooky mama-ness. As it turns out, it is actually hard to weep, when your kid is that ready.

The Finishing (Including End-Weaving-In) of the Blanket of Squeak...
Unfairly named, the Blanket of Squeak is actually only soft and snugly. It’s just that I always expected acrylic yarn to have that squeak-factor. A worthy experiment, nonetheless I reckon I’d opt for a breathable cotton next time – the kid is so attached to her blanket I am even prising the thing off her in forty degree heat = Blanket of Sweat.

The Usual Compulsive Knitting For Winter in The Festering Heat of Summer...
In reaction to the completion of the above blanket and its veritable explosion of (sometimes wincing) colour, I started to prepare for a Melbourne winter and gave my eyeballs a rest with grey grey grey. All finished, except for weaving in those blooming ends and the blocking bizzo. More to come, possibly even with snazzier pics, after the sorting of the blooming ends and blocking bizzo.

The Wear Your Heart on Your Sleeve Red Cardi Number...
Because I can try ’til the cows come home to be one of those dignified designer-types dressed in understatement and confidence-inspiring muted tones, I know I’ll never be able to pull it off. My personality is too prone to outbursts of blunt, or undignified displays of excitement, or just whole doses of daggy. So I started on a cardigan in an apt blast of red. Come to think of it, I was also married in red, (though I reckon that had more to do with colour co-ordinating with a London bus).

The Something Entirely Unexpected...
It started with the Middle Kid’s Most Excellent Cello Teacher. Actually, it starts and ends with him – because I lay every blame squarely at his feet. Towards the end of last year, parent classes were run, with the aim of better enabling kid-music help at home. What I could never have imagined, is that playing the cello, (read: beginner squeaking and squawking), could come to feel as essential as breathing. I understand that this comes over as rather DRAMATIC but there is something incredibly meditative about beginner cello squeaking and squawking (unless you’re having to listen to someone else’s squeaking and squawking). Meanwhile stuff like this and this and this prompt anything from goosebumps, to forgetting to inhale, to an adrenaline-surge keeping me awake into the wee small hours. There has been much eyebrow-raising (my own included) and some discussion debating the mid-life crisis-ness of this new development.

About Me

Mother of three, wife to one, designer and craftster of the slightly obsessive kind. Myrtle and Eunice were two lovely old ladies who connected weekly over the Scrabble tiles. These Saturday battles of will and skill were a ritual as comfy as a hot Milo and handknitted blanket on a frosty day.